


the spell you got on me

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, F/M, I'm not saying jainabowl but you know... jainabowl, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 04:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: “I wish you would write a fic where someone falls in love with how Jaina looks when she smiles.” Or: if I have to have a dumb shitbaby crush on jaina then so does everyone else





	1. Thrall

**Author's Note:**

> originally an anonymous request on tumblr. I literally could not decide who I wanted to write about for this so I’m doing like, 4 people lmao (thrall, garrosh, aggra, sylvanas), starting with thrall
> 
> let’s fuckin do this boyo

jaina hasn’t said a word in days.

nothing substantial, anyway; she’ll give answers, but she won’t ask questions. She’ll speak when spoken to, but she won’t speak up by herself. And whenever she does manage to shore up the energy to talk, it’s haltingly, in singular words and syllables, and half under her breath if at all. it’s not really a surprise, however. the late admiral’s death was a tragedy, and in an ideal world, one that could have been easily avoided.

it’s been raining just about every day, since then, a grey curtain of clouds overhead and the sea swelling well past its usual borders, licking at wounds left in her father’s wake. the sea knows its own, and mourns her father right alongside her, crawling up the shore as close as it can. thrall can do no more about it. he’s attempted to speak to waters, and calm its churning depths, but to no avail. it will not leave its kin to wallow alone, even if that means flooding the rivers and shores.

but he does the best he can. thrall and his forces linger in theramore as long as they are able, and clean up as much as they can. they rebuild, and remake, picking up pieces and fitting them back to where they belong. he finds himself at her side, more often than not, and she at his. even if speaking is just out of reach for her right now, she seems to enjoy his company well enough, and his voice, filling the quiet between them. she sticks close, whenever she can, taking safe harbor in his shadow. their goodbyes linger, at the end of each day, when it is time for both of them to return to their quarters. she wants to say _something,_ but what, he doesn’t know. perhaps she wants to say anything at all.

so _alright,_ he thinks, and keeps trying, and keeps talking, and finally-

-she laughs. it’s small, and precious, but it’s there, finally, after so long. he honestly cannot even remember whatever it was he said to make her laugh; it doesn’t matter, now, just that she’s laughing, and smiling. the clouds part, the seas calm, and the light streaming through the cracks is soft and warm and gold, leaving him weightless, breathy. it’s infectious, this joy, and he finds himself grinning back at her, at something he cannot even recall saying to her. it hardly matters, now.


	2. Garrosh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stares @ the wall listen I'm not going to pretend that I put myself in this pit, because I did, and I have nothing to say for myself  
jainosh is and forever will be my Original Sin TM

the human witch has a unique sort of strength- one that he doesn’t notice, at first.

he meets her, first, in theramore, to renew their pact of non-aggression with orgrimmar. at first glance, she seems too soft, and simpering; too willing to give way when she should be standing firm, and too quick to do so. there is no remarkable physicality about her, at least not beyond what he finds typical of humans, and she avoids conflict at any cost. it baffles him, how someone so weak of will could garner such respect from even her own kind, let alone his fellow orcs, and least of all, thrall. she seems to let just about anyone and everyone walk all over her- even her supposed friend, that wretched human king. he cannot stand her, at first, and cannot see this as anything else besides weakness.

and then, her city is attacked.

it’s an ambush- just as they’re preparing to leave, the cowards- but she does not panic, even as her people do. Her demeanor is calm, collected, and she seems to radiate this effortlessly, the very air around her becoming cooler and cooler despite the high summer’s heat. There is a strange sort of comfort in this cold, the obviousness of her presence a given safety to her people, soldiers and civilians alike. The air crackles and freezes, solidifying under her hands as she works water and arcane in tandem with each other. There is no conflict between these two entities, somehow, she bringing the natural and the preternatural together peaceably under her hands. And the feats she accomplishes with this peculiar frost- she blinds their enemies and hides her own troops from sight, she protects them from the cult’s twisted fire and in return rains her own fury upon those that dare invade her realm.

And all throughout- she is calm, she is collected, her movements are measured and her voice is even, calling out orders over the crunch of ice and metal and the crystalline ringing of the arcane. she commands no respect- it is given intrinsically, just as she gives safety and surety. and at the end, when the last invader has fallen, only then does she stop to take a breath.

after the battle has ended, and the blizzard she’s woven clears, she seems to shrink back into herself. the air warms up again, slowly but surely, and her arms are shaking, from effort or cold, he’s not sure. she stands tall, regardless, despite her exhaustion, despite her trembling hands, and for a moment, while her guard is down and she can be herself while no one watches save for him, all she does is glance over the scattered crowd. she makes eye contact with no one in particular, content just to look on her city. there’s a glimpse of a smile, here, relief in one moment and affectionate pride in another, and then, she gathers herself back up, and keeps moving. She keeps going. it’s a sort of strength that he didn’t realize that she had, one that he admires and envies. It’s a sort of strength that he could learn to covet. There are many things about her that he could learn to covet. Her kindness, most of all.


End file.
